


Shooting the Breeze

by Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drunkenness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr/pseuds/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's the best way to get new ideas during a brainstorming session?  Break out the engex!</p>
<p>Written in 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Hey there, Prowler."

The agent always seemed to be able to disrupt the tactician's frame of thought, even when not in the same room. He paused, backtracked and stood in the doorway to the small conference room, an optic ridge quirking at the scene before him. Wheeljack, Jazz, Smokescreen, the twins and Springer were sitting, sprawled, slouched or in the relaxed pose of their choice around one of two tables, which was covered in engex and pads. The other table was covered in Jazz himself, as the Porsche was arrayed on his back, feet against the wall. The others hadn't seen fit to protest the unusual seat, apparently.

"What are you doing?" He found himself asking, to the obvious amusement of those gathered.

"Unwindin' the processor for plans."

"We're having a think-tank for what the Decepticons might be up to and how to stop them before it really gets started," Springer said, when Prowl didn't reply to Jazz's claim. The tactician nodded, though his expression didn't clear entirely.

"The purpose of the engex? One would think you would not want to cloud your processors for such a task."

"To loosen the processor an' give the thought to minds not accepted while sober."

It was extremely tempting to simply walk away. However, he knew that if he did, the words would interfere with any work he attempted to do until he had them translated. "While I barely understood that..." he frowned, selecting to abort an automatic processor restart when his language codex couldn't pull up a logical explanation for the sentence. "No, I did not understand that at all."

The fact that Wheeljack was holding back laughter was abundantly clear in his tone. Prowl chose to ignore this. "That's exactly why we're having the engex. To let our processors unnerstand things we'd normally instantly dismiss."

That made a strange amount of sense. Still--

"You should try it."

Prowl's gaze flicked to Jazz again; the agent was grinning at him, head over the edge of the table.

"No thank you, I do not drink engex."

"Well, that's a given. An' that's why I-" a very brief pause, "- _we_ want you to try it. Primus only knows what's squirreled up in that mind a' yours."

The cranial ache wasn't helped by the fact that he knew that, inebriated or not, those in the room were doing their best not to laugh at him. Like any sane mech, he abhorred being laughed at and it soured his mood considerably. "I seem to require a translator for you today, Jazz."

"Perseverance is its own reward. But I'll be nice. I wanna know what's in yer imagination."

"Everyone knows that Prowl doesn't _have_ a' imagination, Jazz," Sunstreaker scoffed, prompting a sound half way between a snicker and a snort from his twin. Smokescreen promptly stood and pulled a chair into view out from under the golden twin's feet, placing it between himself and Springer.

"C'mon and sit, Prowl. You've gotta prove him wrong, now."

"I have--"

"You _always_ have reports to finish," Jazz said, turning over so that his elbows were resting on the table, fingers intwined, chin on the back of the net they created. His gaze had never left Prowl and the tactician frowned at him, feeling more than seeing the challenge in the cerulean gaze.

That, not Sunstreaker's words or Sideswipe's reaction to them, was the reason he sat in the offered chair. Silence fell until Jazz sat up, cross-legged on the table, and poured another round for everyone from the same bottle-- including Prowl, using a mug he first offered the tactician for his examination.

"I trust you, Jazz," Prowl told him, handing the mug back after a glance. The statement caused raised optic ridges and glances to slide between those gathered, but Prowl ignored this, bracing himself for a very long non-productive evening.

Regarding each of the mechs in the room in turn, Prowl judged them all to be significantly deep in their mugs. Wheeljack, Smokescreen and the twins' levels of intoxication were on par and Jazz was also edging toward their level, simply by the way the words were coming tangled out of his processor. Springer would be jolly and relaxed until he fell over offline, probably without warning. The large triple-changer was always extremely difficult and yet simple to read. Prowl didn't envy the other Wreckers tomorrow, with the hangover their co-leader would most likely have.

His mug had vanished from in front of him. He was about to give the twins a harsh look, logic dictating that one or the other of them would attempt to somehow heighten the effects of the engex Prowl allowed himself to consume, when movement from Jazz caught his attention. The saboteur was holding Prowl's mug, a light, careless grin on his face.

"Just so I know fer sure yours ain't different so y'can't blame tomorrow on anyone but'cher self." Jazz took a mouthful from Prowl's mug, then pressed it back into the tactician's hands. "Yer turn."

"You don't trust those gathered?" Prowl asked, taking a mouthful of his own and shuddering slightly as he felt the concentrated energy hit his fuel tanks.

"With some things more'n others." He clapped his hands. "Where were we?"

The pads and Jazz once again scattered about the table, Prowl taking notes on what the others were saying and translating them when he could. He only absently noticed his mug was empty when his chronometer clicked over to the end of his shift. It didn't magically refill itself so the detail was dropped into his memory banks without comment.

Finding the others gazing at him in varying degrees of awe, Prowl paused from where he was apparently giving a detailed explanation on how the field of battle between the Autobots and the Decepticons was startlingly similar to that of the American sport of football.

"Another round, I think," Jazz announced, grinning as he, with very careful movements, poured each mug full and passed them around. Prowl found his was only half full and didn't argue, though he did take a sip.

"If it's like football," Sideswipe said, shoulder to shoulder with Sunstreaker with their helms resting on each other, "how do we win the game? How do we know where the game _is_ , even?"

"Th' inda'vidual game itself izn't important," Springer said, also leaning, though he was comfortably against the wall. "The Superbowl is."

"If that's th' case, how the Pit do we get--"


	2. Chapter 2

"We play them."

"What?"

"We. Play. Them." Prowl gave the red twin a disappointed look. "Is the engex causing your audios to malfunction or is the fault in your processor simply accentuated by it?"

"That was cold, mech," Jazz put into the startled silence, more to keep the conversation going rather than in defense of the gaping Sideswipe.

"Not in the slightest." Prowl made a dismissive gesture. "The American sports teams play their opponent's weaknesses, so must we."

"We don't know them, Prowl," Springer said, "we've only crossed guns with them. That's not exactly the best way to get to know a mech."

"Almost all of the Decepticons save for a select few are motivated by two things," Prowl told him.

"Fear and greed," Smokescreen agreed. "The lower the rank, the more the fear of the higher ranks."

"And Megatron is a greedy bastard--" Sunstreaker started, only to be cut off by a exasperated sigh from Prowl.

"Megatron's motives are neither fear nor greed, but something far more dangerous. He feels the former Autobot ruling class wronged him and his fellows...therefore he is motivated by righteousness. _That_ is why Megatron continues to fight. Shockwave seeks to end the war through any means necessary and knows he is not fighting against another army but a collection of civilians. Our creativity--"

"Wait."

He paused, leveling the bristling twins with a cool look. "You can hardly deny it."

"We're soldiers!" Sideswipe growled.

"I'd have to agree, Prowl," Springer put in with a frown, though he wasn't nearly as upset as the younger mechs. "You're being unfair."

"Yourselves and the Wreckers are as close to soldiers as this army has. Ultra Magnus, myself and Jazz, as well. But Wheeljack and Smokescreen are not soldiers. Neither is Ratchet, Mirage, Bluestreak...I could go on."

"I'd argue," Wheeljack put in, his headfins dark. "I've been fighting since the beginning."

"That doesn't make you a soldier. You're an engineer, built and designed. For a short time you were employed as a scout but soon returned to your programming. Mirage is a society elite, not built in the slightest for heavy work. Bluestreak is a courier. Smokescreen is a therapist with a gambling addiction--"

"Let's not get personal," the mech in question murmured. "I could say nasty things about you, too, Prowl."

"It wouldn't be productive," Prowl replied calmly. "We need to stay on the topic at hand."

"How do you know the Decepticons are all soldiers?" Springer asked, taking another sip of his engex. "I heard Starscream was a scientist before the war."

"He was an explorer with the scientific expertise to classify what he found," Prowl told him. "A deep-space explorer which necessitates knowledge of self-defense and survival tactics. Also known as a soldier."

"Thundercracker is no soldier," Sideswipe put in, getting over Prowl's blunt assessment enough to rejoin the conversation. Sunstreaker was still grumbling. "He hesitates."

"Thundercracker is the odd mech out over there," Jazz said, stretching his hands over his head.

"You're gonna frag your dorsal relay if you keep sitting like that," Wheeljack told him, shaking his head slightly.

Jazz just grinned at him before continuing. "Thundercracker and Skywarp are a good match, which's why Screamer's got 'em on his wing. Skywarp's gotta temper, but he ain't as stupid as he seems an' once he gets a skill, he don't lose it easy. Thundercracker's smart, but he's reluctant to kill an' gets trapped by his own doubts and indecision."

"But how do we beat them?" Wheeljack wanted to know.

"We do what we have been attempting to do since we landed on Earth, if not before," Prowl said quietly, sitting back with his fingers steepled. "Attempt to get them to destroy themselves from within."

"I can't believe you don't think we can beat them in a straight out fight," Sunstreaker growled. "Every one of us is worth ten of them."

"Unfortunately not true," Prowl countered. "Blaster and Soundwave are not equally matched; Soundwave would win by numbers and expertise. You two could Jet Judo your way to beating Starscream and Thundercracker but Skywarp's transwarp drive would defeat you unless you took him on first. That would leave you vulnerable to Starscream's null rays, which are only unidirectional EMP's."

"Only, he says," Wheeljack chuckled. "Next time someone checks into the med bay after getting hit by 'only' the null rays, I'll let _you_ repair the damage."

"I meant there was nothing unique about them," Prowl said. "Springer, you could take on Blitzwing with Sandstorm on Astrotrain. Quickswitch on Sixshot, etcetera, ad nauseum. The Protectobots, the Stunticons, the Arialbots, the Constructicons, Metroplex, Tripticon. Through all that, the Decepticons have the upper hand in most situations. True, some of us would be able to take out more than our share. My match is in many cases either Shockwave or Soundwave but I don't match evenly against either. Desperation and the ability to keep a hold on my temper would help against Shockwave but I would lose quickly against Soundwave."

"You've gotta temper?" Sideswipe asked curiously.

"You of all mechs should know that I do, as you seem to have made a sport of attempting to crack it," Prowl told him mildly. Wheeljack burst out laughing.


	3. Ending 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of two versions of the ending for this fic.

"Maybe we should unleash these two onto the 'Cons," the engineer chortled, "not to fight but to prank. Let them drive someone other than Red Alert mad for once."

"It is not a bad idea," Prowl murmured, considering the two before flicking his gaze to Jazz, whose visor was unlit. "But is that not what _you_ are supposed to be doing?"

Jazz's visor flicked back on and he gave Prowl a wounded look. "I do, when I'm given rein to do so."

"And what exactly are you given now, save a pad with an objective on it?" His throat was dry and there was still a third of energon in the bottom of his mug. He picked it up and took a small mouthful, swallowing carefully.

"I get _that_ from Prime. Or rather, you get that from Prime." Jazz sat up, back straight, visor a bit overly bright, movements a bit too casual. "I get a pad from you with every footstep com-part-mental-ized inta neat ikle boxes that got me on such a tight timetable tha' you send someone after me if I'mma nano late, puttin' them an' me at risk."

The Porsche was actually frustrated and not making any effort to hide it. Prowl studied him, fascinated. "And why, d'you think," _ignore it, no one noticed_ , "I do that?"

"'Cause y'don't trust me t'keep myself outta the med bay. Check this detail, mech. I get less damage when you _don't_ try'n control me."

"I trust you, Jazz," Prowl said immediately, stung. "I am merely attempting to--"

"Stop." Jazz was giving him a straight look, head held at such an angle that Prowl could nearly see his optics through his visor. "Don't. I know my trade better'n you do. The more freedom I got--"

"The more you'll escape to New Orleans an' sit days on end hobnobbin' an' listenin' to the street music," Wheeljack interrupted, prompting snickers from the others. Even Prowl smiled, particularly when Jazz sat back, his expression now entirely sheepish.

"That was once," he defended, beginning to grin. "Besides, who didn't leave his lab for a month an' sit so long his knees gave out when he tried to stand that one time?"

"I was working on a very complicated project!" Wheeljack protested.

"One which I never received a report on," Prowl murmured.

"Speakin' of reports, not writin' out the detailed blow-by-blow for me would sure free up a lotta yer time, Prowler. 'Sides--"

"Huh?" The red twin's head lifted, having apparently just gotten comfortably curled up with his dozing brother. Jazz's expression quirked to gently amused and he brought his hands together in a soft clap.

"Meetin's over, I think. Time for chillins t'be in recharge."

Prowl watched passively, Sideswipe pulling Sunstreaker to his feet before they departed, leaning on each other. Wheeljack and Smokescreen had their feet about them enough to leave on their own, though after a soft conversation over Jazz's comm, Kup and Hot Rod arrived to hoist Springer's shoulders onto their own, Arcee shaking her head with a slight smile at the large green mech's condition. Silence settled comfortably, with Jazz standing next to Prowl's chair, expression hard to read, one hip resting against the chair's back. Gazing up at him, Prowl came to the abrupt realization that Jazz was not overcharged in the slightest. Unlike himself, he was forced to admit, when standing showed the need for one hand on the back of his chair to catch his balance.

"All of that was simply you acting?" He asked, allowing Jazz to rest a hand on his shoulder to steady him on the trip to quarters. At least he still had control over his vocalizer and most of his movements.

"You do realize someone had t'stay sober to record alla that. Even you stopped takin' notes after a while."

"You are making my helm ache," Prowl sighed, deciding against even a slight head-shake. From the way his gyroscope was already malfunctioning, such an action would not end well. Jazz gave a soft chuckle.

"That would be the high-grade. Go have some oil an' get some recharge."

"I have often wondered how you do it," Prowl murmured, watching the other black and white mech out of the corner of his optic.

"Do what?" Jazz asked, his arm now around Prowl's shoulders, bracing him. The tactician, though the friendly touch felt good, kept enough of his head about him not to rest it on the agent's shoulder. He had his dignity, still, after all.

"Your reputation."

"Which one?"

It was only when Jazz prompted him to sit that he realized they were in his quarters. He sat on his berth, obediently sipping the oil Jazz pressed into his hands. "Your reputation that you can put anything to tank and not feel it the next day. No one else noticed you did not touch a drop."

"But I did. I tested yours, remember?"

"That hardly counts."

Another chuckle came from the saboteur's vocalizer though Prowl wasn't able to see his expression since his optics had switched off, seemingly on their own. "Recharge, Prowl. Your helmache'll be gone come mornin'."

"You are remarkable." He wasn't entirely sure if he had said the words aloud or merely thought them, Jazz's almost silent footsteps not pausing on their way to the door.

***

Not surprisingly, he saw several notices on his desk the next morning that certain mechs would like to have the day off from their assigned shifts. Most of the notices were from Ratchet, one was from Kup. Still feeling a bit strange himself, Prowl instead pursued the other new pads on his desk, all of which had Jazz's familiar handwriting and turn of phrase.

It was because of these pads and the ideas on them that he was able to accomplish most of his assigned work in less then an hour, despite the lingering feeling of being off balance. Looking through the requests again, he noticed that Jazz's name was conspicuously absent. In fact, the agent had sent him a notice volunteering to take any of the absent mech's shifts that he could. Nodding to himself, Prowl shuffled the agenda around to cover the absences and decided to deliver the reply to Ratchet's request in person.

"Well, look who--" the medic stopped short, apparently caught off guard by Prowl's unruffled exterior. "You hold your high-grade better then most."

"I did not have an excessive amount," Prowl told him. The CMO's expression quirked.

"Going to deny the requests? Wouldn't blame ya; they all knew they had shift today." Now he was smirking. And all this despite his reputation for being exceedingly grumpy in the morning, far moreso than later in the day.

"Requests approved," Prowl stated, prompting a shift in Ratchet's expression to startled. "And please have one of your medics, or yourself, check on them later to make sure they are tending to the hangovers properly. I don't want to have to disrupt the schedule tomorrow, as well."

"You're sure you're feeling all right?" Ratchet asked, frowning.

"A bit off balance, nothing more."

"Hmph. Your scans check out, otherwise I'd have you on one of these berths, looking for a bug or shell in your systems." The medic shook his head. "What happened last night to get you in such a mood?"

"Ask Springer or Wheeljack," Prowl replied. "Will you please inform Prime that I am taking a few hours of leave?"

"Leave? You? Why?" Ratchet was now openly staring.

"I have some and would like to get some rest, so to start tomorrow fresh." With that he turned and exited the med bay, leaving Ratchet gaping in his wake.


	4. Ending, v2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version is Jazz / Prowl.

He adored his visor. He loved it. It made it possible for him to be amused and husky and possessive, all without a single mech in the room being aware of anything but what the rest of his face displayed. Controlling one's optics was hard. Controlling the rest of the face was one of the first things he remembered knowing how to do.

Right now he was slipping a quarter cup of high grade into Prowl's mug as the Datsun spoke. Jazz got a naughty sense of mischievousness when he took advantage of the tactician's current state of buzzed, because by his readings, Prowl was certainly not sober, drawing his hand back before the movement could be marked by anyone.

The auras of the others were giving off enough of their own overcharged energy, their bodies attempting to disperse the concentrated energy in their tanks, to give him a pleased and peaceful contact high simply from being in the room. A lyric swirled through his processor, a frequent happening, and it was good he was sober or he would have purred it aloud--

"It is not a bad idea," Prowl was murmuring, "but is that not what _you_ are supposed to be doing?"

Of course, reality brought him back to the moment, his visor flicking on. His look to Prowl was playfully wounded. Some might call it a pout. "I do, when I'm given rein t'do so."

"And what exactly are you given now, save a pad with an objective on it?" The agent watched Prowl take a careful mouthful of the high grade, possibly to wet his throat after so much talking.

A creature of quicksilver moods, Jazz was, at the moment. And his mood had just bittered with the reminder of one of Prowl's more annoying habits. "I get _that_ from Prime," he about snapped, sitting up straight, "or rather, you get that from Prime." It was a sore subject and he found he was glad to be able to broach it in the presence of others, even if they were beyond the point of remembering. Perhaps it was better that way, that they wouldn't remember him losing his cool, even temporarily. His hands lifted to mime a very small box, placing an illustration to his next words. "I get a pad from you with every footstep com-part-mental-ized inta neat ikle boxes that got me on such a tight timetable tha' you send someone after me if I'mma nano late, puttin' them an' me at risk."

From his expression, Prowl was entirely off guard and intrigued by Jazz's outburst. "And why, d'you think," _to the point that he actually slurred!_ "I do that?"

Jazz just about collapsed into giggles at the slip, but his frustration with the long-time problem was carrying him past the moment quickly. "'Cause y'don't trust me t'keep myself outta the med bay." He couldn't help jabbing a finger at the other black and white. "Check this detail, mech. I get less damage when you _don't_ try'n control me."

"I trust you, Jazz." Prowl visibly jerked back, slapped by a tone which had been much harsher than Jazz had intended. Well, it had gotten his attention, at least, before they had fallen into the familiar call and answer the conversation usually took. "I am merely attempting to--"

"Stop." For someone who considered himself not overcharged, he was certainly allowing his emotions, typically held under much tighter wraps then anyone might think, to run away with his vocalizer. Part of his processor was marveling at the real anger which sugared his words. "Don't. I know my trade better'n you do. The more freedom I got--"

"The more you'll escape to New Orleans an' sit days on end hobnobbin' an' listenin' to the street music." Wheeljack's intervention let Jazz know that the others weren't so overcharged that they couldn't read his tone or body language. He sat back, doors folding back into place, feeling sheepish all over. He was obliged to defend himself, of course, teasing Wheeljack to get the humor back into the air.

"That was once," he told the engineer, beginning to grin, the frustration dissipating. "Besides, who didn't leave his lab for a month an' sit so long his knees gave out when he tried to stand that one time?"

"I was working on a very complicated project!" Wheeljack protested.

"One which I never received a report on," Prowl murmured in a mild tone, finishing the high-grade in his mug.

"Speakin' of reports, not writin' out the detailed blow-by-blow for me would sure free up a lotta yer time, Prowler." He hoped the exchanges were accomplishing that Prowl would, finally, return to him the rein the tactician had tightened little by little over the vorn until Jazz felt hard pressed to breathe when on an assignment. "'Sides--"

"Huh?" He was reminded of the hour by the sleepy puppy grumble from the red twin. Thankfully everyone could make it back to quarters without extra help, even if he did call Springer's pals to assist the large triple-changer, more as a friendly gesture then necessity.

Then, they were alone, gazing at each other. Prowl's expression was completely open and Jazz was hard pressed to qualify how the quietly marveling expression was making him feel into a coherent thought. Coming off the contact high, Prowl's cool, gentle, warm, swirling aura brushing his own was comforting. The tactician stood unsteadily, allowing Jazz the simple gesture of resting his hand on his shoulder. "All of that was simply you acting?" He asked, his tone as marveling as his gaze.

Perhaps he would tell Prowl, one day, that he hadn't been exactly _sober_ during the conversation. But the question remained, so he decided to answer it with a fact, instead of a true answer. It was one of his favorite habits. "You do realize someone had t'stay sober to record alla that. Even you stopped takin' notes after a while."

"You are making my helm ache."

Watching his companion, he couldn't help a soft chuckle with sympathetic tones. "That would be the high-grade. Go have some oil an' get some recharge." He was sure Prowl missed them. He began to steer him to quarters, when the tactician made no move to begin walking on his own.

"I have often wondered how you do it," Prowl murmured.

"Do what?" He knew Prowl didn't miss when he slid his arm around his shoulders, bracing him and getting as close as he would allow.

"Your reputation."

"Which one?" They reached quarters, Prowl sinking slowly down to sit on the berth, watching Jazz absently.

"Your reputation that you can put anything to tank and not feel it the next day. No one else noticed you did not touch a drop."

Finding some oil, he mixed it with some powdered silicon to further combat the headache he knew Prowl had, smiling when he obediently began to drink. Jazz supposed the mug could have been more high-grade and Prowl would not have noticed. A sleepy drunk, then, or perhaps he was simply no longer pushing himself beyond his means. "But I did. I tested yours, remember?"

"That hardly counts."

He chuckled again, both at his own musings and Prowl's sleepy thoughts. He eased him onto his back, watching optics go dark as soon as the body was horizontal. "Recharge, Prowl. Your helmache'll be gone come mornin'."

"You are remarkable."

Moving from the berth, he at first didn't register the mumbled comment. By his pattern of breathing, Prowl was already in recharge so didn't mark Jazz recrossing the room, gazing down at the sleeping mech with a fond smile.

He went to one knee next to the berth, simply resting their foreheads together for nearly a breem. "Thank you for trying to protect me, Prowl," he murmured, dropping a kiss onto his chevron.


End file.
